purpose
by cedricsowner
Summary: Set way pre-series, following Shinsakuto's prompt: Why is Guerrero still in the game? Even before Junior came along he had enough to live out the rest of his life. He doesn't like killing or torture. His reputation is stable. Money itself? Kinda pointless, but maybe. Power for the sake of power is not his style. Power otherwise demands purpose. What purpose?


**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

_**A/N: This was written for Shinsakuto. THANK YOU for your help.**_

"Hotel California" started playing on the radio and Guerrero quickly changed the station. It was dark outside but still hot, as it was common in this godforsaken part of the world. At least it was a dry heat, not that humid shit that drenched your clothes with sweat, no matter how still you sat.

And still he had sat for quite a bit in the last few hours. Till he had finally crooked a finger, pulled the trigger and all hell had broken loose, that was.

Things had gone smoothly, though. The drug lord had thought his little love nest was safe since he always killed the prostitutes after bringing them there.

Quite the fundamental error of judgment.

Well, he would not make that error again. As of now the people who had ordered the hit on the drug lord were already busy weeding through his minions, taking out those who were foolish enough to put up resistance and making arrangements with those who were compliant.

Guerrero briefly wondered what the drug lord's son would do. He was a teenager, not even sixteen yet, raised far away in an expensive Swiss boarding school. By tomorrow he would know that his father and his father's riches were no more. He'd face expulsion (although school authorities surely wouldn't call it that way) and he'd find himself down and out on the street.

Would he accept his fate and try to find a way into the ordinary world? Social services would offer their "help" and if he made it through the foster system… He could finish high school and get a job as a salesclerk, do construction work or whatever.

_Or_ he could activate some of his father's old allies… attempt to get back at the people who offed his father and try to reclaim what was taken from him.

In that case Guerrero would soon find himself with another assignment that involved a lot of sitting still.

He sincerely hoped the boy would turn tail. He didn't need the money.

_Money. _

Guerrero's thoughts took a different direction. He thought of his stashes, his hidden bank accounts, his hideouts for bad times. It was all there, enough for the rest of his life and if push came to shove a job or two a year would definitely suffice. He could leave right now, take a U-turn, head to the airport and fly off.

Up, up and away.

Joubert probably would accept his decision. He had found himself a pet project, blond, blue-eyed streetkid, quite talented. The Old Man saw potential in him and Guerrero could only agree. The stray showed some promising signs.

So why not make way for him?

Again Guerrero's thoughts changed direction. He thought of a job he'd carried out a few years ago. A revenge thing, the kind of job that involved specific instructions along the lines of "I want him to see it coming" and lots of floor wiping afterwards. Seriously not cool. Nowadays he refused those types of assignments, but back then his position hadn't allowed him much wriggling room.

The target had been an elderly man, ex-assassin, retired over twenty years ago. He had been out of the Game, completely. Lived a secluded life in a suburb, completely unobtrusive. Enjoyed gardening and his weekly book club.

Then one of his many victims' children had made enough money to fulfill her life's dream: Avenge her mother's gruesome death.

By causing the killer to suffer an equally gruesome death, of course.

Nothing is ever really over.

The ex-assassin had known someone was after him. His instincts had still worked well, even though everything else had grown rusty. He had tried to get help, find allies… but the power he had once held over others had long faded, thanks to the years he had spent _up, up and away_ he found himself alone and shut out of the world he used to roam. Like a fox in unknown territory, terrified by the barking dogs and stomping horses of the approaching hunting party Guerrero tracked him down in a pathetically obvious hideout.

As a child Guerrero had learned first-hand what it meant not to be in control of things. He knew, in the literal sense, what it felt like to be at somebody else's mercy. The deep scar on his back that he had tried to cover up with the tiger face tattoo never failed to remind him. He would not let that happen again.

At the moment he had the reputation of being one of the most dangerous men in the Western Hemisphere. In control of things.

He was fiercely intent on keeping it that way.

Apparently that meant staying in the Game. Keeping on killing and doing other people's dirty work if they paid properly, no matter how much money he managed to pile up.

Yeah, he was stuck.

But there was no other way.

Not exactly cool, he had to admit, since he didn't enjoy the pain he was causing others, but nevertheless still fine with him.

Keeping in control was more important than anything else.

… … …

When he contacted Joubert to get his money, the Old Man had a new assignment for him. The stray needed a bit of assistance with his first major job.

Guerrero stifled a sigh. So babysitting was part of the Game now, too?

Great, just great.


End file.
